You Know Disney?
by MissDizzyD
Summary: "Did you just...?" Stiles asks, completely distracted from his pain, the terrible feeling in his chest, the lack of oxygen in his lungs, the awful memories flooding his brain... They all go away, leaving him with one thought at the front of his mind: Derek Hale just quoted Disney at me. Derek goes to Stiles for help but they end up marathoning Disney and falling asleep together.


_Hey hey hey! I hope you enjoy this, because I seriously enjoyed watching Disney films and being able to pass it off as useful preparation. Not that I need an excuse to watch Disney._

_Dizzy xx_

**You Know Disney?**

"_So what happens after he climbs up and rescues her?"_

Stiles muffles a sob with his pillow.

"_She rescues him right back."_

"Stiles? What the hell?"

Stiles pushes off his bed, skittering away from the window like a frightened kitten. He wasn't expecting company tonight – everyone that would come over for a social visit knew what today was and why he had to be alone to watch a stupid rom-com on a loop all day. Everyone knew him well enough to leave him alone for just this one day a year.

Except not everyone in this town has known him since he was a toddler.

"Are you watching Pretty Woman?" Derek asks, still half inside the room, his left leg hanging out the window.

"No." Stiles replies mulishly, grabbing the remote and muting Roy Orbison as he sings over the credits. Derek pulls himself the rest of the way into the room and stands with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised... Just... staring. What fresh hell? "Well you know what it is, too, so you can't judge." Derek stares... And stares... And stares... "Listen, what do you want? I'm kind of..." He gestures vaguely at the TV, then at his bed in a kind of all encompassing movement. "Busy. Yeah, I'm busy. Get out."

"You're watching Pretty Woman." Derek says, his face settling into its usual frowny position, the one that can communicate anything from slight unhappiness to murderous rage and it's up to the receiver to gauge its meaning. Stiles is pretty sure that right now Derek is... confused.

"Yes, ok. I admit it. Happy now?"

"Stiles, what's going on?"

"Urgh!" He throws his hands up in frustration. "Ok, wait here!" He storms to the bathroom to wash his face, scrubby madly at his skin to get hours worth of dried tears off, before returning to his room and glaring at Derek. "What do you want? The sooner I do it the sooner you go, right?"

"What's wrong?" Derek asks softly, moving to sit on the bed but still looking intently up at him. He tries to ignore Derek's green eyes staring at him as he turns on his laptop and logs in. He'd only decided to start password protecting it a few months ago after Peter had used him to track Scott's phone and something told his brain that perhaps he should protect all those thousands of documents on werewolves and the supernatural. Not that his dad could even work out how to turn the laptop on, but if someone stole it...

If someone stole it, Derek and the pack would be in a lot of trouble.

So his password was 14 characters long, obscure, had numbers and symbols...

It was his birth name spelt backwards, then his PIN number, then his mother's favourite band from when he was little and she used to play their records around the house as they baked cookies and muffins.

"It doesn't matter," Derek says, calmly and clearly. Stiles spins his desk chair around and gapes at the werewolf.

"You come in and interrupt my Saturday of watching movies only to say that actually it doesn't matter and you'll just leave?" He shakes his head, completely disbelieving. Any other day he would chalk it down to Derek being an Alpha and think the power has gone to his head, but _today._ Today, interruptions are not okay.

"I didn't say I was leaving."

"What?!"

"Come here," Derek commands gently, motioning at the space beside him. Stiles rolls his eyes, but goes to sit on the bed anyway, still working on the basis that if he does as he's told, Derek will leave him alone. "Tell me what's wrong."

"You're kidding, right?" He leans away from Derek and gawks at him again. "Nothing is wrong!"

"That's a lie. I don't even have to hear your heart to know that." At that, Stiles' heart starts beating faster and louder than usual. Like a dog – it took notice when it was called. And if _Stiles_ could hear it, with his feeble human ears, then it must be deafening to Derek.

"You're the most annoying half-human half-wolf, glowy-eyed freak I've ever met."

"Lie."

"Only because I've met Scott! Seriously, I'm fine!"

"Lie, again."

"Stop it!" Stiles yells a bit louder than he intended and Derek stills, tilting his head to the right and looking at the bedroom door.

"Your father's coming. I'll be back. Act normal, if possible." And then Derek is gone, sliding the window shut behind him and leaving Stiles standing in the middle of his room with a pounding heart and an even worse headache. And also a worried father knocking on his door.

"Stiles? Did you shout? Are you okay?" His dad asks, opening the door and peeking in. It's obvious that he, too, has been crying from his red eyes and his gruff voice.

Stiles shrug-nods and sits down on his bed again, trying to remain calm.

"Well... I was going to go to the cemetery," Stiles' heart constricts and he prays that Derek is far enough away not to have heard. He really doesn't need that right now. "Do you want to come?"

Stiles clears his throat, not trusting his voice in the slightest.

He feels his throat tightening and his breath comes harshly. He gives himself a second to push the panic attack away, to remind himself how to get air into his lungs, before attempting to answer. "I went this morning..." And he did, so it's not a lie."Say hi from me, though?"

"Sure. See you later." His dad closes the door on the way out and Stiles drops his head into his hands, willing away the tears in his eyes. When he looks back up, Derek is already by the window again looking embarrassed and guilty, showing he was definitely close enough to hear the conversation.

"I'm sorry." Derek says tenderly. He moves slowly as if he was approaching an unpredictable, feral animal and lowers himself onto the bed next to Stiles, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other right next to his thigh. "It was her favourite film, wasn't it?"

"Uh, yeah," Stiles tries to keep his voice steady and balanced, but there's no disguising the way his heart is beating right out of his ribcage.

"You know, she's still here in a manner of speaking. So are my parents... Laura, too. Even those who are gone are with us as we go on."

"Did you just...?" Stiles asks, completely distracted from his pain, the terrible feeling in his chest, the lack of oxygen in his lungs, the awful memories flooding his brain... They all go away, leaving him with one thought at the front of his mind: _Derek Hale just quoted Disney at me. _"You just quoted Disney at me?" His voice cracks, making the statement sound more like a question and Derek ducks his head sheepishly.

"You know Disney?" Derek says.

"Do _I _know Disney? _Of course _I know Disney. How do _you_ know Disney?"

"Me and Laura used to have themed movie nights. Anything from Disney to Hitchcock... I didn't think you'd recognise it..."

"You thought I'd just think you were being really deep and philosophical?" Stiles shakes his head, walking over to the DVD player and taking out the Pretty Woman disk. He kisses the case and returns it to the back of his sock drawer, where it would stay for a whole year until he'd take it out again and wallow in shame and sad memories – because that's what he always does on the anniversary of his mother's death – Pretty Woman and guilt. "Okay," he turns around to see Derek picking at his jeans awkwardly, "Cancel your nonexistent plans, we're having a movie day."

...

Derek, honestly, is astonished by the amount of food that Stiles has been able to stash in secret places in his room, safe from his dad and Scott. He walks around the room, mumbling, pulling out hollow books from shelves and relieving them of chocolate and sweets and crisps before putting them back and... Is that...? Yeah, the kid even has a loose floorboard because where else would you hide three bottles of lemonade and a heap of Doritos?

"Is all of this necessary?" Derek gestures at the bed, now covered with fatty snacks, when Stiles throws him a packet of chocolate coins that came from God knows where.

"Dude," Stiles faces him, puts his hands on his hips and looks at him like he's stupid for even asking. "I'm a teenage boy and _all_ my friends are werewolves. Of course I need emergency supplies. You should've seen how much Scott ate when Allison broke up with him the first time. We're talking, like, an entire Walmart snack aisle. Isaac and Erica came on the same night once. She almost eviscerated him when he ate the last waffle."

"How often do they come to you?" He asks, surprisingly put out that his pack went to see Stiles instead of going to him, _the Alpha_, with their problems.

"Not often, I mean, couple of times a month?" Stiles drops onto the bed and starts pressing buttons on the remote, only looking at Derek when he didn't answer. "Oh, right. I... They do trust you, you know that, right? It's just, I mean, dude come on, when it comes to personal issues, you're kind of... unapproachable."

"Unapproachable?" Derek is confused by this. He's always tried to show his pack that they can talk to him about anything, however uncomfortable it might make him. They all know that, don't they?

"Yeah, you don't exactly give off helpful-and-reassuring vibes. Anyway, Aladdin or The Little Mermaid first?"

...

Stiles continued to comment through each film that they watched, making Derek smirk with bits of trivia about the actors, or talking along with the film, or criticising the characters' life choices.

"You know, Ursula was actually Ariel's aunt in the original concepts."

...

"The premiere for this was held in Central Park. June tenth, '95."

...

"They just can't get my nose right!_"_

...

"_And at last I see the liiiiiiiiight..."_

(Derek didn't take too kindly to Stiles trying to duet with him, and no matter what anyone said, Derek would always be Flynn Rider, not Rapunzel. Stiles was _obviously_ Rapunzel. He would also deny ever having that conversation.)

...

Stiles heaved a huge yawn.

"Maybe we should stop?" Derek suggested, reaching for the remote to stop the DVD.

"Dude no," Stiles swatted his hand away clumsily, slurring his words a bit as his eyelids drooped. "Shh, Belle's about to see the library... Like, really, if someone gave you that library, you wouldn't exactly leave, would you?"

...

It's too hot. That's all that Stiles' mind can tell him as it stirs, still half asleep. He doesn't remember falling asleep, only knows that it was during Beauty and the Beast somewhere before Gaston stormed the castle.

And it's still too hot.

He tries to throw his blanket off him, poke his legs out the side or something, but it's tangled all around his body and it's so hot. He rolls to the side, the blanket only pulling tighter and... Growling? Holy shit, was there something more than just bubbles and sugar in the lemonade? Why is his duvet growling?

"Stop moving."

And that's when Stiles opens his eyes because even in his delirious, semi-conscious stage, he's pretty sure that blankets shouldn't hold him captive, growl at him and then talk to him.

He squeaks and nearly tumbles off the bed. Only Derek's strong arms stop him from falling on his ass and humiliating himself even further, because, that's right, Derek's arms are wrapped tightly around him, their legs are twisted together with Stiles' knee lifted up to Derek's hip.

"Go back to sleep, it's too early," Derek says, burying his face in Stiles' neck to keep out the light and... _Oh._ That's nice. It's nice waking up next to someone (even if the 'night before' involved Disney movies and not hot, passionate sex). It feels safe and secure and even the stifling heat can be forgiven, considering that it's _Derek's_ burning hot werewolf skin and not a spiteful blanket trying to restrain him. In fact, the blanket is on the floor, long discarded and completely redundant. "It's Sunday."

"Thanks, what are you, Rebecca Black?" Stiles mutters, distracted by what his hand is doing. He's 97% sure that it is rebelling against him – there's no way he told it to curl into Derek's shirt so tight that his knuckles went white. He can't quite bring himself to tell it to stop, though.

"Sleep, Stiles."

"What, why are you-?"

"I can go, if you'd like." Derek mumbles sleepily, taking his hand off Stiles' lower back (nope, _definitely_ not his ass) and starting to shuffle away.

"No!" Stiles winces at how loud he sounded and then it clicks what he actually said and that his calf has tightened around the werewolf's waist and that that probably wasn't the safest thing to do. But then Derek moves closer again, dips his head into Stiles' space and presses his lips against his temple, simple and short and chaste but heartbreakingly sweet. Stiles would've swooned if he were stood up.

"Stop broadcasting your feelings." Derek says suddenly, his lips tickling Stiles' cheek as he talks. Stiles can't even pretend to be annoyed so instead he smiles and sighs contentedly, letting his eyes slip closed.

"You love me anyway." He teases half-heartedly.

Derek pulls back and looks him straight in the eyes, all intense and affectionate as green meets golden brown. Stiles finds he can't look away – he doesn't want to, he wants Derek to look at him like that for the rest of their lives; wants to wake up next to him every morning, wound around him like he is now; wants to love and be loved by this fascinating werewolf with mercurial mood swings and huge trust issues. Even more surprisingly, Derek wants that too.

"Yes, I do."

"So this is what makes life divine..."

"Shut up, Stiles."

_Stiles' password: mineg2690Wham!_


End file.
